The Captain's Disgraced Lady

by Catherine Tinley

  His eyes dropped to their joined hands, then lifted to meet hers, a stunned expression on his face. Belatedly, Juliana regretted her impulse and removed her hand. The warmth of his stayed with her, though, and she was conscious her nerve endings were tingling from touching him.

  Charlotte laughed shakily. ‘Oh, Juliana, I am so glad you did not lose your temper! I, too, was sorely tested, but I am glad we did not lower ourselves to their level.’ She frowned. ‘I must tell Adam of this.’

  ‘It is a worry, Charlotte.’ Harry looked unusually sober. ‘If they behave this way towards their staff in public, who is to say what may be going on in private?’

  ‘Can they not leave?’ asked Juliana. ‘They are not slaves, after all.’

  ‘It is not so simple,’ said Harry. ‘Many of them have been there their whole lives. Mrs Campbell, for example, has worked at Glenbrook Hall since she joined the staff as a housemaid when she was a girl. It is the only home she knows.’

  ‘What of the grooms? Did you speak to them?’

  ‘I did, for Wakely disappeared briefly to speak to his steward.’ He stopped to reflect, running his thumb pensively along his lower lip. Juliana watched, temporarily mesmerised. ‘The grooms seemed well enough, but then, they may have little contact with the Wakelys. The only horses were the farm animals and the carriage horses. The Wakelys do not pretend to be connoisseurs of horseflesh.’

  ‘You know we cannot interfere in matters between servants and their master or mistress,’ said Charlotte. ‘But it does not sit well with me to ignore this. If only we knew whether today’s incident was their normal way of behaving towards their servants.’

  ‘They were desperate to impress you, Charlotte,’ Juliana pointed out. ‘Perhaps under normal circumstances they are more benign.’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ agreed Charlotte.

  They travelled on in silence, and Juliana’s thoughts roamed from the disgraceful behaviour of the Wakelys towards Mrs Campbell to Harry’s intervention, and to the fact that she suddenly felt in such charity with him. She had seen Harry in a different light today, had admired his sympathy for Mrs Campbell, his anger at the injustice they had witnessed and the adroit way in which he had handled the situation. As they travelled home to Chadcombe, each lost in their own thoughts, Juliana reflected that the silence between them held none of the tension of only a few hours ago. It was, in fact—she struggled to find the right word, then discovered it—companionable.

  * * *

  Harry lunged, then retreated. He repeated the move six times, each time working on his accuracy and control. The rapier shone menacingly before him, steel glinting in the sunlit stable. Fencing was popular with young men of fashion as a sport, but Harry knew the discipline of practice could be vital to all his skills as a soldier—including the realities of wielding a crude bayonet in battle.

  He had been in the stable for nearly two hours, working with epée, rapier and foil, practising moves again and again, and yet again. He had stripped down to his shirt and loosened it at the neck. His body was slick with sweat. Rather than dry his sword hand, he continued, knowing he needed to master control of a weapon even when it was dangerously slippery.

  A small sound behind him alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. He spun in an instant, raising the rapier and drawing his arm back in a threatening pose.

  It was Juliana. Her eyes widened briefly and she caught her breath, but she stood stock still.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ he demanded, lowering his weapon. His heart pounded with the fear of what might have happened. ‘I might have run you through! Don’t you know not to creep up on a swordsman when he is engrossed in practice?’

  She tilted her head to one side and regarded him evenly. ‘I didn’t know that, actually. How could I?’ She walked to his sword case and picked out a short sword. She examined it carefully, before grasping it in an approximation of a sword hold.

  He tutted. ‘Not like that. It would be knocked from your hand on the first strike if you were to try to wield it with that weak grasp. Here.’ Acting on impulse, he moved behind her and closed his hand over hers. Adjusting her grip, he moved the thumb to the correct position and moved her fingers down slightly. As he did so, he was conscious of a vague floral scent emanating from her and mixing with the foul odour of his own sweat. He stepped back quickly and picked up his own sword.

  He adopted the posture and she copied, devilment glinting in her eyes.

  ‘Now, carefully, bring your sword up like this.’

  She watched him carefully, mirroring his every movement. Once her sword was up, he tested her with a gentle lunge.

  ‘Block!’ he ordered, and she did. It was inexpert, but she managed to instinctively move her weapon to block the progress of his.

  ‘Now, other side!’ he said. She blocked again. He kept testing her, teaching her the basics of the four block directions. The intense concentration on her beautiful face was a dangerous distraction.

  ‘Now,’ he said, stepping back. ‘Your turn.’

  She smiled gleefully and launched an attack. He, of course, held her off with ease, but he could not help but be impressed both by her fervour and evident enjoyment. His heart felt light as he fenced with her and her whoops of excitement lifted his spirits. Oh, but she was a woman in a million!

  She kept thrusting, stepping forward as she did so. The clang of their blades rang out through the stable, punctuated only by Juliana’s spontaneous expressions of delight.

  Eventually they stopped, both a little winded. ‘That was wonderful!’ breathed Juliana. ‘Oh, I sometimes wish I had been born a man! It is unfair you get to fence, while we must embroider!’

  ‘Really?’ Harry had never thought of it that way before. He supposed some of the male pursuits were probably more exciting than female ones. He was certainly looking forward to their move to London tomorrow, where he would practise fencing with his friends and visit Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, and indulge in all his favourite sports. He imagined having to embroider, and shuddered. ‘Would you truly wish to be a man?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Juliana, setting the sword back in its case. ‘I am glad to be a woman, though I do wish women were allowed to practise sports.’

  ‘Good,’ he said gallantly. ‘I am very glad you are not a man, for then I would be deprived of your female beauty!’

  Her relaxed expression vanished, replaced with clear exasperation. ‘Oh, why did you have to go and spoil it?’ she exclaimed, before turning on her heel and stomping out of the stable. Harry watched her go in some bewilderment. What had he done wrong?

  Chapter Seven

  The Fanton town house was a three-bay, elegant edifice located near St James’s Square. Charlotte delighted in showing Juliana around—from the attics to the basement—and was clearly proud of it. She had made small changes since her marriage, including opening up for her own use a little-used parlour at the rear of the house which was warmed by the afternoon sun. It was a cosy room, with a pretty Aubusson rug, comfortable armchairs and a lady’s writing desk. Here she had placed a portrait of her mother—deceased when Charlotte was still a child—and she had just taken receipt of a recent one of her father, Sir Edward.

  ‘It is a good likeness, Charlotte,’ said Juliana, tilting her head to one side to consider the matter. ‘The artist has caught something of his spirit, I think. Sir Edward has such energy, such vitality. It reminds me of that other portrait—the one of Lord Cowlam and his family. The Baron had a decided air of mischief.’

  ‘He did,’ said Charlotte. ‘They say the Baron was impetuous in his youth and his ill-fated son inherited his headstrong nature.’

  ‘Such a sad tale,’ mused Juliana. ‘I still think of that poor housekeeper and of how the Wakelys have cut up her peace.’

  They had been in London for a sennight and had settled into an easy routine.
In the mornings, Juliana and Charlotte retired to the parlour after breakfast to talk, and plan, and enjoy each other’s company. Afterwards they often accompanied Olivia and Mrs Milford to the shops, or on house calls, and later in the day they frequently went riding in one of the many parks nearby. Harry and Adam usually accompanied them, if Harry was not needed in Horse Guards and Adam was free from his responsibilities. Juliana was beginning to feel she really knew them and was becoming more comfortable in their company.

  She liked Adam more and more, helped by his obvious adoration of Charlotte. He was naturally solemn and a little reserved, until in his wife’s company, when he seemed more relaxed, open and warm. They made a good couple and were clearly very much in love. Some days they missed breakfast entirely, often retired early, and spent a lot of their time together kissing and holding hands. Juliana was delighted to see her friend so happy and loved.

  Juliana’s thoughts turned to her relationship with Harry. This was much less comfortable. He was as sociable as his brother was taciturn, and his ready smile and open nature was in stark contrast to Adam’s reserved character. Harry still insisted on flirting with her and she continually rebuffed him. The incident during the fencing was typical. Just when she started to feel in charity with him, he would get that look on his face—the false, flirtatious one—and turn into the jester that so angered her.

  It had become quite a contest between them, as Juliana still felt irritated by his extravagant praise and easy compliments, feeling sure these were not sincerely meant. However, since the incident at Glenbrook Hall, she had also understood he had good qualities—a matter of regret, since it made her opinion of him far too complicated.

  Mama, thankfully, was at ease, having formed a firm friendship with Miss Langley—whom they both now addressed as Great-Aunt Clara, as she had requested. Clara’s gentle conversation and warm nature made them perfect companions. Juliana had rarely seen her mother so contented, and she was glad of it. Perhaps the decision to bring her to England had not been so bad, after all. It was, she admitted, sometimes hard to be constantly catering to Mama’s needs.

  Adam and Harry’s sister, Olivia, was experiencing her first Season and was thrilled to be visiting dressmakers and milliners in preparation for the parties, picnics, routs and balls she would attend. Town was becoming increasingly busy, as more families returned from the country, and invitations were piling up on Charlotte’s desk. She opened each one diligently, then put them into different piles, some to be accepted, others rejected.

  ‘Oh, Juliana,’ she said suddenly, ‘look—it is the Almack’s vouchers!’

  ‘Finally!’ breathed Juliana, ‘Now we shall see what all of the to-do is about.’

  Charlotte handed her one of the vouchers. It was a small, thick card and had the dates inscribed on it, along with the initials of Lady Jersey, one of the Patronesses.

  ‘Olivia will be thrilled,’ said Juliana.

  ‘Never mind Olivia—I am thrilled!’ said Charlotte excitedly. ‘We have heard so much of Almack’s—even in Vienna it was talked about! I was so disappointed that my aunt did not allow me to attend any balls or assemblies when I was living with her in London, and I have not had the chance to go since my wedding. I am glad now, for it means we can go together.’

  ‘Do you remember how we used to dream of going to an Almack’s ball?’ asked Juliana. ‘We imagined dancing with dozens of handsome men.’

  ‘Of course I do! We said we would be courted and fêted, and our dance cards would be filled!’ She took Charlotte’s hand and the two of them danced a quadrille step, giggling and laughing as they had when they’d learned the steps together at school. Neither noticed the door opening.

  ‘Bravissima!’ It was Harry, smiling, and looking devilishly handsome in morning dress. Juliana’s heart skipped a beat—possibly because of the unaccustomed exercise of dancing in a parlour. For once, his smile actually looked genuine. ‘Ladies! Might I request the honour of a dance with each of you, whenever we finally have the opportunity to go to a ball?’

  ‘That would be on Wednesday.’ Charlotte grinned, showing him the voucher.

  ‘Almack’s? Olivia, too?’ Charlotte confirmed it. ‘Then I must be off—to procure men’s vouchers for myself and Adam. He hates Almack’s—always has—but he will need to show his face for Olivia’s sake. Shall we ride later?’

  Juliana nodded. ‘We shall.’

  He leaned towards her, his breath fanning her cheek. ‘I am counting the hours.’

  ‘You may think your charms are working, but I am unmoved,’ she said evenly, though her heart was still beating quickly. Oh, no! Was she finally starting to accept his silly emptiness? She steeled herself to stand rigid, her face frozen in a mask of disapproval.

  A raised eyebrow and wide smile signalled his scepticism and he bowed out of the room.

  ‘Oh, what a flirt that man is!’ said Juliana crossly.

  ‘He has been that way as long as I have known him,’ agreed Charlotte. ‘He has a good heart, though... But you shake your head at me, Juliana. You disagree?’

  ‘I will admit to his sister having a good heart. His great-aunt has a most generous heart. His brother, a warm heart, for he married you, my dear friend. But Harry? Harry has the smile of a wolf, for sure...but I am not entirely certain he has a heart.’

  ‘Juliana!’ Charlotte looked shocked. ‘I know you and he began badly, when you first met in Dover, but surely, now you have spent time with him, you can see his good qualities?’

  Juliana looked at Charlotte, who seemed genuinely stunned. ‘I am not sure of him,’ she admitted slowly, though the memory of his intervention at Glenbrook Hall nagged at her.

  ‘Then let me urge you,’ said Charlotte, ‘to get to know him better. I do not ask that you favour him, but I should hate for you to dislike each other.’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘Please? I do not wish my best friend and my brother-in-law to be at odds.’

  Juliana sighed. ‘Very well. I will try. But only because you have asked it of me.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Juliana, it will not be so difficult, surely?’

  ‘Not difficult for you. But he delights in teasing me and I find I always take the bait, then regret it afterwards.’

  ‘So I have observed. It is amusing to watch—though not, of course, to experience. Now, let us go and tell Olivia we are finally to go to Almack’s.’

  * * *

  ‘Well, I was never more disappointed!’ declared Olivia. ‘After all the talk of Almack’s, I expected a palace, not this!’ She gestured around, indicating the plain ballroom, its arch-top windows draped with simple curtains, the spaces in between decorated with mirrors and paintings. ‘Why, our ballroom at Chadcombe is a thousand times more beautiful!’

  ‘But the attraction of Almack’s, you must understand,’ asserted Harry, ‘is not in its appearance, but in its exclusivity. For every maiden here tonight, there are dozens—perhaps hundreds more—who will never be admitted.’

  Olivia, who looked stunning in a white evening gown, with small rosebuds threaded through her dark curls, studied her dance card. ‘It is all country dances and quadrilles, too. Are we not to dance the waltz?’

  Adam took the card to check. ‘You are correct, Olivia—no waltzes. That is probably because Countess Lieven is not here. Of all the Patronesses, she is the one who promotes the waltz.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Charlotte, I have been brought here on false pretences. The only reason I came was so I could waltz with you again, my love. I have been deceived!’

  Charlotte blushed prettily, but retorted, ‘Tosh! The reason you are here—why we are all here—is so we ladies can see what all the fuss was about. And I must say, Olivia, so far, I am in agreement with you.’ She glanced around. ‘Adam, some seats are free there. Can we procure them?’

  Adam made an ironic bow, smilingly saying, ‘Yes, my Sergeant!�
� but moved to reserve the seats. They followed him swiftly, the ladies seating themselves while the men stood nearby.

  As the room slowly filled, Juliana was content to sit and gape at all the ladies and gentlemen. With Charlotte and Olivia, she discussed the fashions, demeanour and identities of the other guests. Juliana’s own gown of cream-coloured silk, worn over an amber underdress and trimmed with Vandyke lace, was quietly elegant. Charlotte, too, looked pretty in a deep yellow evening gown and fetching cap. As a trio, they attracted more than a few admiring glances and knew themselves to be properly turned out for the occasion.

  The only beverages on offer were tea and lemonade, so many of the young men had taken their fill of wine before arriving, which left them in varying states of abandon. It did, however, give them often misplaced confidence in their dancing abilities, and they gleefully circled around the ladies like birds, securing partners for the dances. All three ladies soon found their dance cards filling up. Olivia seemed particularly impressed by one young man who likened her eyes to sapphires and begged for the honour of bringing her a drink. She dimpled prettily and accepted with demure politeness, but her eyes followed him as he crossed the room.

  ‘What a handsome young man!’ observed Juliana.

  ‘Oh, Juliana,’ said Olivia with enthusiasm. ‘I do not think I have ever seen anybody as handsome as he is. His name is Mr Nightingale—is that not a romantic name?’

  ‘Do you think so?’ asked Juliana doubtfully.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Olivia happily, ‘I have long believed the nightingale to be the most romantic of birds.’

  Juliana returned a non-committal answer, reflecting, although Mr Nightingale was probably close to her own age, she was not sorry his eye had fallen on Olivia rather than herself. Not that she needed another admirer—she had her own circle of beaux tonight and was quite enjoying the sensation.

  One young man in particular seemed very interested in Juliana. His name was Mr Attwood and he was not inebriated—which impressed her from the start. He was a good-looking, fair-haired gentleman in his early thirties, with a solemn eye and a sober taste in clothes. His knee breeches, black evening coat and dancing slippers were de rigueur, but his neckcloth was tied plainly and he wore no jewellery, save a single ring on his little finger. They danced together and he made polite, sensible conversation. He was a real contrast to the half-silly youths making extravagant compliments, and Juliana found herself intrigued by him.